


That Shirt

by faegal04



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, F/M, Mild Language, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 03:27:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16925619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faegal04/pseuds/faegal04
Summary: You catch Dean in an emabarassing situation.





	That Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this idea hit me when I saw a certain commercial one day like a gazillion times and this is what happens when I’m in a silly mood. Enjoy!!!

_‘Stop being a coward and get it over with, idiot!’_  You closed your eyes tightly as you slowly started banging your forehead off the steering wheel. _‘I can’t believe how much of a chicken shit, I am.’_

You had been sitting outside the bunker now for thirty minutes and still you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of the car. _‘I’d rather face a nest of hungry vamps then have to go in there.’_ You chuckled darkly, big  _‘well 5’3, but whatever,’_ bad ass hunter afraid of the place she lives. Well, not the place, but the who that was currently inside. Three words, Dean. Fucking. Winchester.

Normally, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but the three of you had made a deal. Each of you got the bunker to yourselves for one weekend a month, after a particularly horrifying incident which was referred to now only as  _“The night we no longer speak about.”_

 _‘Time to nut up.’_   You gripped the door handle of your car, getting out quickly you headed to the bunker door. You made your way through the hall, pausing slightly at the metal door.

 _‘You got this, just open the door and get it over with.’_  You grabbed the handle, closed your eyes and said a silent prayer. Opening the door wide, you waited calling yourself the gutless wonder, then with eyes still closed you took two steps inside, pulling the door shut behind you with a loud bang.

Silence. Blessed silence is all there was. Slowly, you opened one eye and looked around. _‘Whew, crisis averted.’_

You started down the metal steps, making as much noise as you could while visions of Dean being chased around the bunker by some chick in a Zorro mask, yelling  _‘Hi-ho Silver, away!’_  ran amuck in your head. If that wasn’t bad enough, you shuddered, Dean had been naked-except for the horse tail that was firmly situated in his-  _‘NO! Don’t go there!’_

“Dean!” You called loudly. Getting no answer, you tried calling him again only to have the phone ring and ring until his voicemail picked up. Thinking he might be in the shower, you walked down the hall towards his room. You noticed there was no light coming from under the door, when you heard it.

Tilting your head, “Is that music?” you murmured. You decided to follow the faint tones that were slowly getting louder as you made your way to the living room.  _‘NO! Is he really listening to…it can’t be!’_ You stopped just outside the doorway, biting your lip to keep from laughing at the scene before you.

With his back to the door, wearing only his boxers and the shirt you secretly referred to as “Dean’s red sex shirt”, stood-no danced Dean Winchester. Using an empty beer bottle as his mic, his eyes closed as he belted out:

> _“Hands, touchin’ hands”_

As quietly as you could, you stepped into the room, mesmerized by his wiggling hips

> _“Reachin’ out, touchin’ me, touchin’ you”_
> 
> _“Sweet Caroline”_

You couldn’t resist, you had to do it, and now was the best time

> **“Bum Bum Bum!”**

Dean jumped and dropped his makeshift microphone, screaming like a girl.  _ **“What** the fuck, Y/N?!!”_

You busted out laughing, holding your stomach as it started to hurt and tears streamed down your face, “C’mon finish…I promise I won’t tell anyone!”

He gave you the most epic bitchface possible, one that rivaled Sam and that’s saying something. He stomped over to his phone, and paused the music. He turned to glare at you, “How about no, sweetheart.”

You stuck your bottom lip out, pouting, “Please? If you do, I’ll tell you what song I sing when I’m here alone, wearing only your shirt,” you coyly looked at him through half closed lids, “That shirt as a matter of fact.”

He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again, he licked his lips as he stared at you. Dean unlocked his phone, “You’re on!” he pressed play and continued to give you the best private concert ever.


End file.
